As I was thus thinking, half in despair and half in hope, the two came out from the house together; and it pleased me to note how immediately her eyes sought for me, and how she lifted her hand to shade them from the glare of the sun, so that she might see more clearly. Her companion appeared to ignore my presence utterly, and gazed anxiously up and down the road as though searching for something. “Peters,” he asked sharply of the fellow on guard, “where are Sergeant Steele and the rest of the squad?” The soldier addressed saluted in a manner that convinced me he was of the regular service. “They are resting out of the sun in that clump of bushes down the hill, sir.” Brennan glanced in the direction indicated. “Very well,” he said. “Take your prisoner down there, and tell the Sergeant to press on at once toward the lower road. We shall follow you, and the lady will ride his horse.” The man turned, and with peremptory gesture ordered me forward. As I drew closer to where the two waited beside the open door, I lifted my head proudly, determined that neither should perceive how deeply I felt the humiliation of my position. As I thus passed them, my eyes fixed upon the shining road ahead, my ears caught a word or two of indignant expostulation from her lips. “But, Frank, it is positively shameful in this sun.” He laughed lightly, yet his answer came to me in all clearness of utterance. I believed he wished me to overhear the words. “Oh, it will only prove of benefit to his brains, if by rare chance he possesses any.” I glanced aside, and saw her turn instantly and face him, her eyes aflame with indignation. “Then I will!” As she spoke, her voice fairly trembling with intense feeling, she stepped backward out of sight into the house. Another instant and she reappeared, sweeping past him without so much as a word, and bearing in her hand my old campaign hat, came directly up to us. “Sentry,” she said in her old imperious manner, “I desire to place this hat on the head of your prisoner.” The fellow glanced uneasily over his shoulder at the seemingly unconscious officer, not knowing whether it were better to permit the act or not, but she waited for no permission. “Captain Wayne,” she said, her voice grown kindly in a moment, and her eyes frankly meeting mine, “you will pardon such liberty, I am sure, but it is not right that you should be compelled to march uncovered in this sun.” She placed the hat in position, asking as she did so: “Does that feel comfortable?” “The memory of your thoughtfulness,” I replied warmly, bowing as best I might, “will make the march pleasant, no matter what its end may mean to me.” Her eyes darkened with sudden emotion. “Do not deem me wholly ungrateful,” she said quickly and in a low tone. “The conditions are such that I am utterly helpless now to aid you. Major Brennan is a man not to be lightly disobeyed, but I shall tell my story to General Sheridan so soon as we reach his camp.”